"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh—oof!"

The abrupt landing jarred him, rattled his bones, and churned his stomach. Francis crawled out of the bush on shaky limbs. He was extremely grateful that he hadn't landed in a briar patch and poked his eyes out. No, that was a different fairy tale prince and it was best not to mix them up.

He looked up and down and all around. The scenery was... Well, it was all right, in a way. Francis noted that he was in a forest, albeit a particularly gloomy one. Weak light filtered down from the canopy; moss and lichen grew upon the trees and rocks. As far as the eye could see, it was drab browns, dreary grays and muted greens all around.

"Ah... So I'm alive... I would thank God, but this sort of setting is quite fitting for having an existential crisis. I feel like I should have a smoke and wallow in philosophical ennui." Francis mimed taking an elegant puff from a nonexistent cigarette, but his mood was further dampened at the thought that there was no one around to laugh at his witty remarks. It was decided, then, that he would move on in search of civilization, or at least the closest approximation to civilization that this place had, anyway.

He came upon a clearing in the woods, and within it, a small stone hut with ivy-covered walls. There was a fence around this humble abode, and it appeared to be decorated with various rusted signs, though Francis could not make out what they said no matter how he squinted.

He hopped closer to examine the gate in more detail, only to—

BOOM!

—have his eardrums nearly blown off by a fiery explosion coming from the other side of the gate.

When the ringing in his ears had settled down, he heard something else that he was sure was not a trauma-induced hallucination: voices. Francis quickly scrambled under the fence and came upon a quarrel between two men.

"Bugger off, you insufferable git!"

The first thing Francis noticed was that this man had a very nice backside. Toned, firm, delectable... The second thing Francis noticed was that this man was very drunk, and was yelling at the remains of a scarecrow instead of his equally drunk friend. Said scarecrow appeared to have had its head blown off; its lonely neck was still smoking.

The other man hiccuped and let out a strange hissing laugh. "Kesesesese~ Look at you! 'I can handle any Jägerbomb you throw at me,' you said. Kesesesese~" This man then promptly fell on his behind and clutched at his head. The little pet chick on his shoulder peeped at him worriedly.

"Next time I hope you fall on a giant tack and bleed so much out of your arse that you shit your intestines out!"

Ouch. Perhaps it wasn't the best time to be thinking of pretty derrieres. Francis had to admit, though, that the man was quite spirited - just how he liked them.

The other one wasn't bad, either, though something about his facial features reminded Francis of a certain someone whom he would have liked to strangle very much. But then the tiny chick peeped at him and he shakily rose to his feet. "What was that, Gilbird? Oh, sorry to deprive you of my awesomeness, but it's almost Gilbird's bedtime."

The owner of the pretty-derriere-that-Francis-should-not-be-thinking-of was now bent over in the bushes, heaving out the contents of his stomach.

"You...and...bloody bird...go stuff yourselves! Huuuaaaaccckkkkuuuuuggh~"

Even after his friend had staggered off down the road, he continued to punctuate his vomiting with strange invectives involving a turkey baster and baby gravy. Francis found the insults to be very amusing, and the man was quite eloquent for someone who was so obviously inebriated. He was certain to be quite the interesting conversationalist when he was a little less pissy and a lot more sober.

The prince gave a small chuckle. He was about to approach this very interesting man and offer to help - perhaps bring him some water - when he heard a mysterious huffing noise coming from behind. Francis froze as the shadow of a large animal crept over his immediate surroundings.

Then he turned around and saw... a monster.

"Uwaaaah!" Francis dodged, leaping to the side just in time to avoid the giant equine mouth that chomped down on the grass where he had just been sitting. "Mon Dieu, what manner of foul creature is this!"

He had barely gotten those words out when the white beast lowered its horn and charged. Once again, Francis was on the run, and the threat was an evil unicorn! That sharp horn! Those frog-chomping teeth! Frog-stomping hooves! And, oh lord, the stinky horse-breath!

"I thought unicorns were vegetarians!" Francis exclaimed. He dove to the left.

"I know I'm hard to resist, but overly persistent suitors are unattractive!" He dove to the right.

"Get thee back, cheval des diables!" He picked up a tiny frog-sized stick and poked the unicorn in the eye.

The beast roared; it reared back in pain, glaring at Francis with ghastly red eyes that seemed to glow as if they were coals from the deepest pits of hell.

"Hey, what's going on over there? Didn't I tell you to stop eating the gnomes?" The unicorn's master wobbled his way over to them. "I need those gnomes, damn you!"

The unicorn eyed its would-be snack one last time and snorted indignantly. It turned around, lifted its beautiful white tail, and farted a rainbow into Francis' face before promptly trotting off.

"Auuugh, that's disgusting!"

"Well, well, a talking frog," the man said, crouching down so as to peer directly at Francis. "Are you real, or are the fairies playing tricks on me again?"

Francis hopped into the man's cupped palms, and the first thing he noticed with this new view was that this man had very nice eyes. They were as green as Francis' skin was at the moment, or, more romantically speaking, as green as leaves in spring, a green unmatched by any other hue in nature... About a second after this revelation, he also noticed that the man's eyebrows were abhorrently large.

Well, no matter. No one could be perfect, after all.

"Excuse me for my appearance at the moment. I haven't always been a talking frog, you see. Ah, how rude of me not to introduce myself! Francis Bonnefoy, at your service."

The man grunted and gave a terse nod. "Arthur Kirkland."

Not to be deterred by his surly behavior - surely it was the liquor-induced headache settling in and not his normal temperament - Francis continued on cheerfully. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur." He planted a kiss onto his savior's hand. "You have thoroughly charmed me."

"...Right." Arthur dropped his hands to his sides - and along with them, the frog. He rubbed at his temples, muttering to himself, "Stupid fairies again..."

"Wait! Wait up, please!" Francis rushed to catch up. He hopped alongside Arthur as he made his way into the house.

"Stop following me, hallucination!"

"I can assure you that I'm very real, and currently suffering from a very real curse."

Arthur paused. "...Curse?"

"Yes, a curse. You see, I was a man until earlier this evening, when I suddenly became like - like this! I must be under a curse, and if you would be so kind as to point me to a spellbreaker, or at least let me stay here until someone can take me into town..."

"Hmm... A curse?" Arthur turned around and picked Francis back up. He narrowed his eyes in concentration as he examined the frog as if it were a lab creature. "Yes, you're right. It must be a curse..."

"Oh, thank you! I knew I could count on a chivalrous gentleman such as yourself."

This flattery did not reach Arthur's ears at all, for he had shifted gears into what, unbeknownst to Francis, was his "wizard mode". He walked, still somewhat unsteadily, into a room with bookshelves lined on every wall, and dusty tomes littered here and there and everywhere. Francis was set down on the coffee table while Arthur bustled about collecting books.

Having found what he was looking for, Arthur proceeded to pace as he read through it. "Traditionally, curses like this are broken by fair maidens, princesses and the like. I'm sure you've heard of all that drivel about 'true love's kiss'. There's some truth to that, actually. And the second way would be to kill the spellcaster, though sometimes this makes the curse permanent instead. True love is... Hah! I've no idea how you'll go about finding that! And you don't even know who cursed you, so the second option won't work..." He snapped the book shut and looked right at Francis. "The last and hardest way is to find another wizard - one who might be able to study the spell and unravel it."

"You wouldn't happen to know of any wizards, would you?"

Arthur quirked up one disbelieving eyebrow. A very large, very fuzzy disbelieving eyebrow. "You're a daft one, aren't you?"

"..." Francis blinked once. Then twice.

"What? Why did you think I had a unicorn in my yard?"

"...Because you are a virgin? If I were in my regular body, I would be glad to help you... correct that deficiency."

The fuzzy eyebrows lowered into an angry glare. "Because. I. Am. A. Wizard. And frankly, you repulse me. You'd have to kill me before you could get your froggy hands in my trousers, and if you're even going to think about engaging in necrophilic acts, then I will have you know that my ghost shall haunt you forever and make your bollocks shrivel up whenever you're about to have sex."

And this was how Arthur, the surly wizard, came to Prince Francis' rescue.